Revelations & Tribulations
by sifuXANA
Summary: The pieces of Ulrich's life, everything you could possibly want to know about him. Now-what's your decision? Please read and review, feedback is appreciated!
1. Annoyance & Friendship

_**Disclaimer**_:_ I don't own Code Lyoko_.

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"Odd!" I growl out from under my pillow. One thing about Odd is that he has the most obnoxious laugh I've ever heard. He says the girls love it but I think that's total crap. And staying up all night watching comedy shows on his laptop—with or without headphones—is something that annoys the hell out of me when I'm trying to sleep.

He looks over at me. "Come on Ulrich! Don't tell me you've never seen this show. It's hilarious!" he grins, tilting his laptop so I can see a bunch of purple monsters dancing around the screen.

I stuff the pillow back over my head. "You're crazy. I give up." I'm not generally much for giving up. But what's a guy to do? I hate having Odd as a roommate. Okay, sometimes I like it. I mean, we are friends after all. But sometimes…I want to kill the guy.

.

And, as can always be expected, the next morning he's fallen asleep on the laptop and drooling. I snicker because I know he'll have keyboard face for at least the next couple of hours. And that's all the revenge I need.

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My arm hurts like hell but I'm trying not to show it. I keep jiggling my foot absently, nervously looking at Sissi, because the facts are, I just don't want to be with her. I mean, I don't know. Maybe she's a good person under all the glitter and blackmail. But that doesn't really change the facts.

I glance around at the barren, creaking walls of the old elevator. Dirty water is dripping slowly, ominously, like something you'd see in a horror movie. Drip. Drip. I shift my bandaged arm just the slightest bit. In the corner, she looks back at me.

Sissi wrapped up my arm and I said something decent to her. Beyond decent, nice actually. And I don't know what to say anymore.

It's not like I ever thought she was deranged or evil or anything. Close but not quite. We joked about this all the time. Why is it that it doesn't seem funny anymore? The annoying voice is still there, the makeup, the pink clothes, but it's all missing the attitude and I don't know what to do.

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Odd looks straight at me with his puppy dog face, which doesn't accomplish much since it looks like he learned it from Kiwi. I have to wonder what he wants now. Knowing Odd—and his face—it's nothing good.

"Ulrich, I've got a little problem with Yumi. You've really got to bail me out this time."

When I think back on all the times that I've bailed Odd out, it seems like I've spent at least a third of my life getting him out of trouble.

I just listen while Odd explains without really explaining anything. His evasive techniques are really impressive, but right now they're just getting on my nerves. I hate lying outright to my friends, and I'm not really sure that whatever is going on is just "a little practical joke", as Odd promises me. I fiddle with one of the foosball handles as he speaks, my little player going up and down, up and down. He isn't giving me any real answers, not like that's a surprise.

I don't know why I give in. Odd has this way of needling me, getting under my skin so that I have to swat him away by agreeing to whatever weird plan he has. I finally just tell him okay so that he'll stop whining and invoking our friendship. It's when he says "Lyoko warrior's honor" that I know I'm in trouble.

Then you barge in, seething, and then Sissi comes in and it's all a very annoying buzz in my head, and I know I've made yet another mistake that won't be so easy to get out of.

.

(What's really startling is the way you look betrayed, like I've showed everyone your greatest secrets. The surprise, the painful surprise that cuts into my ears. And the way your voice changes—with Odd you were angry, but comfortably, because he's just a friend who will do things like that to you. But with me—it's different, isn't it.)

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Jeremie is tapping loudly on his keyboard while I sit, back to him, on the step.

"Nope, nothing," he says to me. I nod. More noises come from the computer—beeps, signals, error codes, a clicking language, harsh and swift, that only Jeremie understands. There's nothing for me to do but tune it all out.

I'm a little annoyed with Jeremie, sometimes, when it feels like he'd rather speak to cyberspace than to me. I know I'm rash and quick to anger and quietly judgmental and all that. I know he doesn't quite grasp it, not as well as the rest of us. But I'm willing, because it's worth it to be his friend.

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Odd sits down with a heaping plate of spaghetti drenched in marinara sauce. Extra meatballs roll around his plate and onto his tray.

"Looks like you bribed Rosa again," I observe, a smile twitching slyly at my lips.

"There's no bribing necessary!" Odd retorts. "Rosa loves me!" He stabs his fork firmly into the pasta, and that's when the massacre begins.

Just a few seconds later, we're all watching Odd try to slurp about a pound of spaghetti at once, red sauce splattering his face. Jeremie has a look of horror. You are looking pointedly away, while I can't take my eyes off of the carnage unfolding before me. Aelita, lucky princess, has not arrived in time to witness the spectacle.

Marinara sauce flies over to hit me on the chin, and I make a face and I wipe it off gingerly with a napkin. "Watch it, Odd," I growl.

"What?" he asks innocently, mouth full, showing the chewed-up contents of his mouth. Jeremie groans. "Gross, Odd."

Odd makes a move to say something back, but before he can open his mouth again, we all shout, "Don't!"

"Fine," he mumbles. While he goes back to stuffing his face, we all sigh in relief but keep our eyes down on our plates.

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Black hair swishing, skirt fluttering ridiculously over her jeans, my nightmare in pink struts over to my table. I roll my eyes before she can even open her mouth. I find that if I get a sarcastic comment in before anything she says, it speeds our 'conversation' up. An eyeroll is a toned-down equivalent. I've spent a lot of time cataloging Sissi's reactions. It helps that she's predictable, too. A hand on her hip, she scolds me with a combination of indignation and flirtation.

I can see your scowl from the corner of my eye, and for some reason, it makes me chuckle. For the same reason, I guess, this makes Sissi think I'm laughing at her. She looks offended. "Ulrich dear, I haven't even told you the punch line yet!"

That's an easy one. I cock my eyebrow. "That's all right, Sissi. You're enough of a punch line for me." She can't even decide whether I'm complimenting her or insulting her—she never learns.

In my peripheral vision, I see you open your mouth, probably to tell my persistent stalker to go away. Before you can say anything, I put in another biting comment and she stalks off. It's weirdly comforting, our little patterns. I don't want to admit it, but part of me sort of enjoys baiting Sissi, finding the right combination of words and expressions to make her strut away. That's not very nice, but I'll own up to my flaws. Honestly. In some situations she can be a really great person, but mostly, she deserves it.

I think.

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Dirty water cascades in, a waterfall in an elevator, and I can't help thinking that this would make a really cool movie. An artsy movie maybe, where the characters share their deepest thoughts before the flood engulfs them and they drown.

It's coming close to the end, though. Either Aelita deactivates the tower or she doesn't. I'm choking and the water tastes disgusting, so rusty, and I can't swim with one broken arm. Sissi is doing a little better. I made a promise to her, that I'd be nicer to her if we made it out of this alive. Here is where I pledge, to myself this time, to keep that promise.

And I know that if Aelita puts in the code in time and Jeremie hits the right button and the white light engulfs us all—if we return—that Sissi won't be any different for it. And for a second I pity her, that her experiences can't shape her like mine can. I picture her resetting herself every time, regressing, going back. She'll just be the same person, over and over again, wearing the same overly girly clothes and trying the same cheap tricks to seduce me. She'll still say the same ridiculous things and hang over our table at lunch in the same way. Nicolas and Herve will still follow her like she's the greatest thing in the universe and she won't do a thing to encourage them because she's too busy tearing them down. I know it. Sissi will never stop annoying me. But I'm going to try to give her a taste of what she's forgotten. And maybe the cycle won't keep circling without an end.

The water closes over my head and all my panicked philosophical thoughts fade as I desperately try to conserve my breath. For Sissi, this is it. She doesn't know. But I keep trying to stay afloat, paddling with my good arm, squeezing my eyes shut until everything really goes black.

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In my room at night I lay on my back, the glow of Odd's laptop separating shadows on my bed. This time he's playing some sort of computer game, fiddling with the arrow keys and jabbing frantically at the spacebar. I just roll my eyes and turn to face the wall. _That's my roommate, folks_. It's an interesting question, why so much of my annoyance stems from Odd. Counting every single one of his practical jokes is guaranteed to put me to sleep. While Odd groans in disappointment and abuses his keyboard, I pop in some earplugs, close my eyes, and go to sleep.


	2. Competitive & Content

_Hello! Second chapter, guys. And please, please review! I really appreciate suggestions, comments, just any kind of feedback. I hope you like it._

_**Disclaimer**: I don't own Code Lyoko._

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Everything blurs out as I stare down the competition. Even you are reduced to a blur of black in the corner of my eye. Jeremie fades to just a steady countdown: three, two, one.

With one swift serve, the balled up scrap of paper is airborne. I track its trajectory as it swoops closer, closer,

Closer…

(Jeremie may have his numbers and graphs, his variables and equations, but I can track it in my own way, anticipating its trajectory without x's or y's, and that's good enough for me)

My fist makes contact.

I'm a guy who can get pretty competitive. Especially when my dad is watching—once, playing soccer, I kicked a guy in the stomach, just because my dad was in the stands. I didn't even make the goal. All it got me was a temporary suspension.

But here, everything is so different. In the library, I don't knock Odd's chair over or throw anything distracting at him: it's just the steady back and forth of the ball of paper, with a little extra force every now and then because I don't give up that easily. I'd love to win of course, but I'm not going to sabotage my friend. I'm not being standoffish or cutthroat or anything at all. Even though Odd will tease me about it all day if I lose, there's just the heat of the game. I'm not worried.

I could spar with you and not try to hurt you. I could race Jeremie to the factory and not trip him, not even step up my game because the kid is athletically challenged. It's so—_easy_.

After a few minutes of this, the paper ball thuds to the floor and Odd almost falls backwards out of his chair trying to reach it. Jim finally looks up—I was actually betting on how long it would take—and starts up his usual rant. We're "troublemakers", I know. Whether we're sneaking out of class to head down to the factory or just kicking an empty soda can around outside, that's all I hear. It's not like I'm making trouble on purpose (usually, anyway); I'm just one of those people trying to make things go my way. I just want to enjoy my life. It's not worth all the stress, all the time.

The laughter dies down but I'm still smiling across at everyone, silently making fun of Odd for losing, exchanging amused looks with Jeremie and I-don't-know-what ones with you. There's a glow on this scene in my mind. The sun wasn't out that day, but it still feels warm and golden.

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Ramming the pedals with my feet, revving the engine both intentionally and unintentionally, the desire to succeed floods me harder than it ever has before. I won't let William beat me. I won't be second best this time.

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I kick the soccer ball between my feet, scanning the empty bleachers. The sun spreads across my back until I feel like my skin is burning through the fabric of my shirt. The grass is cool and scratchy, my cleats laced tight across my ankles. I feel a strange calm radiating through the air.

But in a few hours, the sun will go down and the brightest lights will snap on and there will be a different kind of heat. And the cold trickle of sweat down my back, all the eyes on me. The apprehension of the locker room earlier, the bipolar possibilities of the locker room later. It's hard to say whether I dread this time or look forward to it.

When I close my eyes, the sunlight swells into pulsating colors. No one is out on the field now, probably because it's 10:30 and I'm supposed to be in class. But I can't today. I'm so anxious about tonight that even stepping inside Mrs. Hertz's classroom would suffocate me. Out here in the open, it's so much better.

My dad is coming to my game tonight. Last time that happened, I was interrupted by a Xana attack. I try not to think about the possible implications. But I remind myself, too, that my dad only _said_ he would come to my game tonight. He's one of those people who have a habit of falling back on their promises.

I tear my mind away from that, though, and think about the swish of the ball as it flies towards the goal, the tear of grass across my cleats as I lean in to intercept. This is easier. I kick the ball between my feet and decide that even with the statistics that my team will lose in front of my father, I'm happy this way. Playing what I like. And I'd be even happier if I could learn to let it go, to just be content with playing.

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The first time we sparred, you knocked me down and I refused to bow to you. The worst thing: being beaten by a girl! I'd like to think that I've matured since then, though. Because now when we fight, if you knock me down I buy you an ice cream, and nothing is wrong with that.

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Odd is lounging against a tree, playing some new video game, commenting on how skilled he is and basically just spewing out nonsense. I sigh, scratch my nose with the tip of my finger. Above us, the sky is cloudy and even, casting a warm shadow like a thick carpet over the forest. Trees rustle lightly with the slightest breeze. If it wasn't for the tacky sound effects on Odd's game, I'd be happy to sit out here for hours, because I love doing that.

And I can't deny that watching you fidget is sort of amusing.

I chuckle under my breath and your eyes lock with mine. You're splayed out on the grass beside me, looking like the perfect picture of boredom, antsy and lethargic at the same time. I've never understood this. "What's so funny?" you ask, resentful in a way that makes me smile. Your fingers still tap against your thigh, back and forth. Back and forth.

"Nothing."

You narrow your eyes. "Don't make me fight you." A challenge. You're just looking for something to do. I turn back to the trimmed grass and the stillness of the day, admiring what's about to be lost.

"You're on," I smirk.

We stand, brushing dirt off of our pants. Before I can even bow to you, your foot connects with the back of my knee and I lose my balance.

A few minutes later we fall back down, panting. I don't know who won and I can say I don't really care. There's something about you, my friends, that makes me content to just be here with you, regardless of what Odd is going to post on his new blog.

You're breathing heavily, wiping loose hairs out of your face and tucking them behind your ears. "Ulrich," you say accusingly. "You owe me an ice cream."

Odd looks up from his game just briefly and laughs at us. Apparently his attention was distracted just a second too long, though, because when he looks back down at the little screen he lets out a juvenile swear and starts pounding at the controls.

"I do not," I retort. There's a leaf clinging to your shoulder and I reach out to brush it off. "Hang on, you've got something."

I blame the heat rising on both our cheeks to the sparring session we just had. I'm going to tell you the truth now, but I won't say it again. You won, but I lied. I never saw a rare flower or a possible Xana attack, and I definitely didn't see Sissi heading our way.

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There was one time, running under the heatless Lyoko sky, when I felt completely at peace.

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And the first time we sparred—it used to be the paradox. So much has changed since then. The gym smelled musty and you were just a girl I didn't know with choppy black hair and it couldn't have mattered less to me. But it did. I don't think you've ever let me forget it.

Now, when I watch you triumphantly eating your mint chocolate ice cream, dipping the spoon in and gloating, even in the winter, I...I don't know. It's like a mirror. That's all I have to say for now and that's all I really can.


	3. Restless & Studious

_**Disclaimer**: I don't own Code Lyoko, unfortunately._

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It's one of those days where the classes seem to drag on forever. It seems like Mrs. Hertz's mouth is moving in slow motion. When I glance around the room I catch Adrienne reading a fashion magazine under the desk, Lars drooling on top of his notes, even Herve staring unabashedly out the window. Odd is drawing a picture of his one true love—I have a theory about this—Kiwi.

I wish I could also lose myself in the floating sky and concrete, but instead I'm struggling to pay attention. My fingers waver as I copy down an equation.

Normally I'd be joining the rest of the class in dozing off, but then Xana possessed William and we started finding replicas and other supercomputers and a ton of skipped classes and skipped homework led to a phone call to my crazy parents, so here I am trying to pull my grades up. I'm even getting Jeremie to tutor me. It's part of the deal: the grades go up, or my dad ships me to another boarding school somewhere. Knowing him, it'd probably be in Siberia.

I tap, tap, tap my pencil until Odd reaches out lazily to knock it out of my hand. Mrs. Hertz's lecture isn't making me sleepy, really. It's just making me restless. I feel like getting up and doing something, kicking a soccer ball around, battling some virtual monsters. I glance around again, cataloguing. Jeremie and Aelita are somehow managing to have a very involved written conversation with each other and furiously scribbling notes at the same exact time. Those two are a mystery. That kind of multitasking completely eludes me.

I think briefly of you, the only one that isn't here. Are you also struggling to stay focused, or does paying attention come naturally to you? It wouldn't surprise me. I sigh, put my pencil down momentarily. Sometimes when I'm taking notes, I forget to breathe.

Mrs. Hertz pauses with me. She just stops for a second, puts her chalk down, and stares at our pathetic class: students sleeping, no eyes on her. I hold my breath. Just when I think she's going to let us out early, she stamps her foot and clears her throat loudly. It's enough to rouse everyone. Mrs. Hertz smirks, turns around, and neatly finishes her proof from where she left off. I contemplate my next move. There is a very interesting poster of a molecule just above her puffy gray hair, but Siberia doesn't sound promising.

When I glance over at Jeremie he gives me a look, and then his hand starts flying over his paper, replicating equations faster than I can blink. On my other side Odd's eyes are closing. I wait for him to slip into soft snores, and then I pick up my pencil again. To tell the truth, it does make me feel better to show someone up. Even if it's only Odd.

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In the library, I stare at my textbook until the pictures swim and stain the words with color. The library isn't an unfamiliar place for me, but if you come in on any given day chances are you won't find me here. Odd, on the other hand…I think he's only been in here twice. He can't even find the _exit_.

I blink and the page comes back into focus again. Hours have been ticking by and I still don't understand a single one of these problems. It's taken me until now to realize that not doing my homework for a week does have its consequences. Maybe I'd get it, if I focused and went through the book again. But my mind keeps wandering and the rest of me wants to do the same. I decide to go find Jeremie.

/

Jeremie leans over my shoulder, treading delicately because he can see I'm frustrated. I take a deep breath and try to listen to what he's telling me.

His pencil traces from one side of the equation to _x_ on the other side. Circling a number, he explains patiently what I'm supposed to do. It bothers me, sometimes, how this stuff comes so naturally to Jeremie while I have to work so hard to understand it. I let it get to me too often. Usually I have to stop, remind myself that he can barely kick around a soccer ball, much less defend himself against a Krab or a Megatank. Still, I don't think he realizes how jealous I am of him sometimes. A lot of people would find that pretty ridiculous.

Tapping a pencil against _2x-4y_, Jeremie tries to guide me. I copy everything he says down in my notebook. Surprisingly, it's starting to make sense. "So what's the answer, Einstein?" I mutter. He throws his hands up in the air.

"Do you have any patience at _all_?" he says in that exasperated manner of his, loud enough to make the librarian glare at us.

I laugh under my breath. "Relax, I've got it." I write down a number and underline it three times, pressing so hard my pencil breaks. Jeremie raises an eyebrow, but nods at me.

When he leaves I rush through the rest of the problems as fast as I can. I have an irresistible urge to run through the woods as fast as I can. Sometimes I get like this. I want to run or stare at the stars or anything, just to get away from everything else.

/

In the library, again, I stare at my textbook…again. I've been doing my homework lately, but I got in trouble for skipping class to many times, thanks to my least favorite acquaintance, Xana. Jim is supposed to sit here and watch me do something useful for a couple hours. He's still staring me down, trying to bare his teeth threateningly, but really I'm just sticking it out until he starts snoring. There's only so long that someone can stand to stare down a student without getting bored. Plus, it's pretty hard to concentrate on anything when someone's giving you a death glare from across the table.

It takes twenty seven minutes of pretending to read about mitochondria before Jim finally drops off to sleep. I sigh and shut my book carefully. He could be unconscious for hours, so I think I'm just going to climb out the window and bail for now.

/

I'm in the library again, tapping a marker impatiently against my lip. I'd rather be anywhere but here. Jeremie and Aelita sit whispering in their own little corner, Odd is meeting a secret admirer over by the history section, and you disappeared outside to "work on a project" with William. It feels like the beginning of the end, but in the back of my mind I think I'm overreacting. I just feel so restless, sitting here watching everyone go their own separate ways as if this were a bad dream.

I wish you'd come back and ask me to train with you. I wish you'd come back and challenge me to a game of foosball. I wish you'd come back and take me out into the woods just to hang out and talk and be ourselves. I stare down at the table, then grab my backpack and walk out.

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The atmosphere is different out here. My anxiety mists away and I breathe in deep, taking in the peacefulness and this better kind of alone. Maybe it sounds stupid but I really don't care. The point is, I'm not having any trouble sitting under this tree and doing my homework.


	4. Alone & Secluded

_**Disclaimer**: I don't own Code Lyoko._

_Sorry for the long wait, for anyone who might still be reading this story. Please remember though, I love reviews! Feedback is always appreciated. _

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They don't seem different, but they really, really are.

Sometimes I seclude myself with my pride, my unwillingness to talk. That's just part of who I am, not something I'm proud of necessarily, just one of the many things that makes me _me_. Sometimes I'm secluded when everyone divides and I'm the only one left, the stem of a dandelion when all its seeds have blown in all different directions. I'm afraid of seclusion I can't help.

Alone is my choice. Always.

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(I love the woods. They're the quietest, deepest place I can think of to come in this school. Of course, at night, you'll probably run into some couple making out or one of the stoners engaging in some suspicious activity, but I've learned to be selective, not to run out every time I feel the impulse to. I used to love sneaking out to go stargazing, the stunning blackness of the sky, the delicate echoing silence of the grounds. I'm more careful now. I'm not saying I'm happier though.

We've just come back from Lyoko, a standard tower-deactivating mission, and instead of gathering in Jeremie's room like we usually do when something interesting happens, our group is splitting apart for the evening. Odd's meeting some new secret admirer outside the cafeteria, and he waves goodbye lazily as he heads off. We left Jeremie back in the factory; he mumbled something way too intelligent for me to comprehend, but I'm pretty sure he's doing more work on Aelita's virtualization program. I turn to you, but you're already walking away, fumbling with your phone, urgently trying to call your parents. You don't say anything to me, but I already know you were supposed to be home hours ago.)

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The first thing I wonder is why Jeremie won't talk to me. The second is if you've drunken my Cherry Coke yet.

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I thought it would be different than this. Hasn't everyone had a fantasy at some point about being a ghost? Passing through things and floating around invisible? Playing pranks? Or just sinking through the floor? Disappearing forever. But it's nothing like that, honestly. Maybe it's the timing. I don't know. I can't pretend I haven't had those thoughts before—because sometimes I just want to escape. (I'm a solitary person at heart.) But this feels so wrong and all I can do is watch my emotions bubble up against each other, trying to cross a barrier I never thought I'd resist. Because Jeremie, Odd, Aelita, you…you're my friends and I want to be around for all of you. I want to be there. Not melting through your lives.

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I'd expected the worst when I volunteered—well, not volunteered, exactly—but this is definitely not what I expected. In a way, it's giving me a taste of the way things would be if I wasn't here at all. Like that dream everyone has where you're at your own funeral.

I did feel sort of weird, disconnected, when I came out of the scanner. But other than that I didn't notice anything at all, not even when I walked clear through a wall. The thought jolts me. I don't want to get used to this state. I'm not ready to attend my own funeral yet.

/

Desperation drives me to the last resort. Looking around for another option, _any_ other option, I shake my head and dive straight down.

My first action as Kiwi is to shiver. The sensation is cold and I don't think I can even describe what I's like to be a dog. I clear my ghostly throat and speak like Kiwi has never spoken before.

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I don't think much about the future. I try not to. I don't think much about the future. I try not to. Because I have no idea what I'll be doing or if I'll like it or if I will ever see you again. I don't want to leave this place. It's not easy for me to make friends, and I think all of you—you in particular—are the best friends I've ever had and the best I'll ever have.

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You're at my door and suddenly you're barging in. "Go away," I groan. "Leave me alone," I snap. "I want to be alone," I growl. Nothing works the way I want it to, except that you leave. But your words cut me to the core because they're true. Sometimes I wonder at the awkward way I am, how I can never really tell you what I mean, how I feel. It's only implied.

Suddenly I'm not sure I want to be alone anymore.

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As much as I like being by myself, sometimes I think I'd prefer it if you were there too. Even if you just sat there, and didn't talk to me at all. Just your presence is enough for me, enough to show me that I haven't really secluded myself like I think I have sometimes.

/

I roll off the bed, half intending to go find you. But I stop. Because maybe being by myself is better than hearing you say out loud all the things that are running around my head.

My dad did the same thing. Well, he still does. He disappears into his study, his sanctuary. When I lived at home year-round he would work most of the day and the only time he was really _there_ was at the dinner table. That's where I used to catch the other side of him, but as soon as my mom started bringing the dishes to the sink he was gone.

He came to see my soccer games when I was in elementary school, but every time I caught his eye, his expression was blank. It used to bother me: I kept thinking that he cheered for me and yelled my name but the second I turned around he'd stop, engaging me in a staring contest of sorts. Only one time did I catch him smiling at me. But he never said a word after.

My mom used to tell me that that was just the way my dad was, that he didn't mean to come off like he didn't care. She told me he was the kind of person that naturally hid themselves away and only came out in the most secure of moments, like a hermit crab. I believed her. I guess I still believe her. But things got bad between us and now I'm afraid I'll turn into him, the way he is. He's not so quiet anymore, when it comes to me. But I'm quieter than I've ever been when it comes to him.

I make my decision. I don't know who I'm doing this for, but I'm only hurting myself staying here like this.

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Being back in my body is a weird feeling at first, but I settle back in quickly. The whole way back we laugh and talk and when we get to Kadic grounds we gather in Jeremie's room, Odd splayed out against his dresser, Aelita curled up near Jeremie's chair, me making myself comfortable on Einstein's perfectly made bed. And you, next to me, our arms touching.

I don't think anything has ever felt so good.

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Everyone's veered off and I'm standing in the middle. I visualize it in my head, me the central point, everyone splaying off in different directions like the swirling points of a compass. I decide to stay for a minute. After all, I need to hold the compass together somehow.

My history homework is piling up and I think I asked Amir to help me with chemistry, but the sunlight is casting red-gold shadows through the trees and there's only the quietest hum drifting in. It's a strange time of day: everything seems bare, like the essence of something. The stillness envelops me and pretty soon everything's turned the ashy gray of twilight.

I love all of you more than anything—even though I'd never admit it out loud, at least not under normal circumstances—but there's something about being out here that I love too. It helps me think, not in the way that makes my mind race and my breathing grow heavy like when I think about how we're all connected and the relationships that happen and the relationships that don't and maybe even won't. It's different. I guess what I'm saying is, sometimes I need to breathe.

/

(I'm a solitary person at heart.

But I make an exception for you.)


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